


in the bottles and the bones of the night

by riverbed



Series: armistice [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Angst, Family, Frottage, Infidelity, Intercrural Sex, Judaism, M/M, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:39:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7363456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverbed/pseuds/riverbed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In truth he can’t imagine being with John outside the war, can’t see them together on a leisurely stroll. Something about their blood roiling hot and close to the surface, the stark loneliness of war. Whatever they have going for them Capote could have written, and Alexander isn’t proud of that fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the bottles and the bones of the night

**Author's Note:**

> hey here's some more of this
> 
> title's from paul simon's can't run but
> 
> heed infidelity tag.

John tears into the tent and throws himself hard onto his cot; the springs creak as he bounces. Alexander dutifully keeps his nose in his book - some trash pulp novel another soldier loaned him - until the third time John groans dramatically.

Alex shoots him a look over his shoulder. “What?” he drones.

John rolls over, flops down on his back. His dark brown curls, growing in faster after every time he gets them lobbed off, fan out across the pillow. “Washington’s assigned me another  _ week’s _ worth of desk duty.”

“That’s what you get when you tell him he’s not running his army right.” Alexander turns back to his desk, signs his name on a letter to his father-in-law and slips it into an envelope, which he licks to seal. “He may not blow up at you like you wish he would but the man is pretty practiced in doling out punishments.”

“So I’ve noticed!” John whines. “And I don’t wish he’d blow up at me. I wish he’d give me a command. I’m so  _ bored, _ cooped up in a tent. He keeps you and me close because he has this protective streak, this favoritism. It’s gonna lose him the -”

“Laurens,” Alex says, spinning around in his chair to eye him. He lets the statement of his name hang in the air, lets it sink in and be all he needs it to - John will know what it means. That he knows him, knows that confrontation makes him tick. He lets his eyes go dark, keeps them trained on John for arguably too long before he sets down his papers, rises slowly from the desk. It’s nearly as good as pinning him down bodily, watching him squirm as he gets closer and closer - John’s slim hips shift back and forth, and his face heats, a blush coloring his cheeks. Alexander likes the power he has over John, the ease with which he gets a rise out of him without even having to touch. He still finds he craves the velvet warmth of John’s skin against his own, though. The grounding effect of a real touch.

He kneels up on the bed, smirks down at John as he straddles his waist, leaning down to take one of his wrists in his hands and stroke the blue vein that runs under the thin skin on the inside. He pushes up his cotton sleeve, looking down at him while he trails the tips of both fingers up John’s inner forearm. John shivers, biting at his bottom lip, though the sweltering afternoon heat is still lingering and they’re plenty warm especially where Alex sits on his belly.

Alexander rocks forward to pin John’s hands next to his head, grinning wickedly down at him from where he hovers right above his face. He’s a little smaller than John, slightly weaker, but he can still hold his own, and John doesn’t mind this, anyway - Hamilton can tell when he uses his weight on him that he’s reveling in it, can see it in the set of his jaw and the way his eyes roll back before he catches them. John responds now by bucking his hips up to meet Alexander’s where he’s slid down, and Alex growls and bears down in retaliation, pushing John’s hands up so he can press their bodies flush and breathe hot on his neck. John goes still, letting Alexander do the work, sparking friction between them as he circles his hips in a slow grind.

Laurens is panting and breathless by the time Alexander forces himself to slow down for the want of more. Hamilton sits up and releases John’s hands, blows his hair up out of his face and John chuckles at him, apparently endeared, reaching up to tuck the offending lock behind his ear. His palm rests on Alex’s cheek, cupping the warm skin and Alexander turns to nuzzle into it, press a kiss to the heel of his hand. He clasps John’s hand in his own and draws his index and middle fingers into his mouth, flicking his tongue against the pads of them, suckling ever-so-slightly. Showing off. John huffs and watches his lips stretch as he presses his other fingers in beside the first two. Alex lets his eyes go heavy-lidded, fixes them fast on John below him, and he lets his jaw go slack, John’s fingers falling from his mouth. He unbuttons his own shirt, and then John’s, yanks them off ungracefully and leans back down. The heat of their chests against each other makes him groan and John hiss. He reaches around to Hamilton’s ass, gripping hard and Alex arches his back, thrusting back to fill John’s palms. “Good boy,” John murmurs against his ear.

“Want you,” Alexander says, and he starts peppering kisses along the chiseled line of John’s jaw. “Want you -” he kisses under his chin, down the column of his throat - “want you, want you.”

“I want you too, baby,” John says, and his hands come back around Hamilton’s waist to mess with his fly. Hamilton shivers, the words, the pet name, a little much. John’s trying to find his zipper, and he flexes his body to let him get at it easier. John gets his pants undone and then slips his hands under the waistband of his underwear, pushes them down and Alexander shimmies to work them to his thighs. His cock, already half-hard, catches on the thin fabric of John’s pants and he moans, rubbing off absently on John’s thigh. John chuckles at him again, probably amused by how worked up he’s gotten. His hands go again to Alex’s backside, squeezing hard as he presses Alexander against him. Alexander mewls and settles lower on John’s body, presses his face into his hot neck.

John coaxes him to roll, hands protective at the small of his back. They end up on their sides facing each other, and Alexander fumbles with the fly of John’s pants. He wraps a hand around his cock when he finally gets it freed, indulges himself in testing the weight and fullness of it as John gasps with the contact. John lets him explore for a minute but eventually his hand yanks Alexander closer to him, gets their bodies pressed flush once again, and starts rolling his hips hard against Alex’s.

Alexander grabs onto John’s hair for purchase, uses it as leverage to work himself up and down with more force. John winces when he pulls but is moaning as they rock against one another, the slide of skin on skin wet with their shared fluid, their hipbones knocking. Alexander intertwines his legs with John’s and it makes their alignment change, makes John’s dick slip between his thighs. John gasps, breathes out onto Alex’s neck. Alex’s pants are down to his knees now and his legs are bound by them without much spread, and he clamps his legs tighter and lets John fuck into the give of his thighs, feeling the way he breaches the supple skin, forces the extra flesh there to accommodate every contour of him as he moves. His own cock slides wet on John’s belly, the toned muscles of his abdomen providing texture to rut into. Alex wraps his arm around John’s shoulders, buries his face in his hair, tugs and pulls and works his hips until he’s spilling on John’s stomach, gasping as John muffles a scream by biting down on Alexander’s shoulder and comes, shoving Alex’s thighs together with a firm grip on the backs of them. He whines, driving into the tight space a few more times as his spent cock softens gradually, working his come into the give of Alex’s skin.

Hamilton loosens the grip of his legs, disentangles the two of them but stays close, joined from their bare chests to their knees. He curls down, gets his head under John’s chin so he can smile against his chest, enjoys feeling small and protected for a bit.

“Sometimes I wish we could run off together,” he says quietly, after a few moments. He doesn’t even think John’s heard it until he palms at the back of Alex’s head, tugs him up gently by the hair to look him in the eye.

“You wanna elope, Alexander?” There’s a warm smile on his face, his teasing smirk but with a glint to his eyes that’s reserved just for Hamilton. Alexander swats him on his flank and sighs.

“I get jealous. And I get lazy. You’ll go home to your life and practice surrounded by Jews and I don’t have any of that to return to, I’ll get lazy again without the motivation and I have a son, I have a son I gotta raise right and do right by. I have to… do it all myself. Start over.” His eyes dart away from John’s; he’s suddenly too self-conscious to meet his gaze.

“Alex.” Something about the way John says it makes him look at him again, tentative but hopeful. Alexander prides himself on having a way with words but when he rambles on and on he trusts John to talk him down. And sometimes it doesn’t take much talking.

John studies him for a moment, hand in his hair smoothing the frizz at the crown of his head down. He smiles at him, not a sad smile. “It’s not starting over. You keep the memory of your mom alive and remember what she gave you. This war will be over and your family loves you and that’s all that matters, just those two things. When you get home it’s gonna be the time of your life, everything you dreamed it’d be.”

“I never dreamed about raising a kid at 20,” Alexander grumbles. He snuggles into John again, presses his nose against his sternum. “Can I come visit you in DC sometime?” It’s a quarter of the way serious. In truth he can’t imagine being with John outside the war, can’t see them together on a leisurely stroll. Something about their blood roiling hot and close to the surface, the stark loneliness of war. Whatever they have going for them Capote could have written, and Alexander isn’t proud of that fact.

“Of course, Alex.” John says it quietly, and he sounds... defeated, Alexander thinks, but he doesn’t let himself dwell on it. “I’ll always have a place for you.”

The letter to his father-in-law gets tossed the next day into his stack of unsent correspondence meant for Eliza. He’ll send them all, eventually. Or he could scrap the lot and spare himself the interrogation. Write a new note, just one, to say everything he has to say.

He knows he’ll never be that concise.


End file.
